Okay, it is a strange day, maybe Mega Millions...

maybe Mega Millions will have my numbers for the grand prize! Why not, seems that I worked just fine at the WCCW with the women patrons and inmate clerks. Moved lots of mail, requested lots of ILL materials, and cleared many soon to be released inmates and did get the books back from Segregation and issued a new bunch of books, into a locked box on a heavy cart. I am certain there aren't as many women in solitary as there are men in the corrections centers.

But that isn't the big deal, not by a long shot. I remember telling everyone to write their Congressmen, Senators and the incoming President about how you felt about the 2nd Amendment or gun control or anything that you felt they needed to know about. Well, I did, and from one of my Senators I keep getting long messages about health care and other things that interest her -- from the other I get silence, hope she isn't ill. My Congressman is always there inviting me to the next town hall meeting, he does that all the time, not just because the Democratic Party sent him out for health care.

Anyway, today (the day the President learns he is important in the Peace process) I got my personal (as they can make it) letter from the President - I do have to admit his signature is artful and kind of cool. Mine and my father's signatures in script are flowing and can be read (okay, I have lost the last two characters in my flourish, but I could put them back in for clarity) but the President's is artful and therefore just a pretty thing without much substance, but it is pretty.

Well, the first mistake is he called me "Dear Friend" and I gave him my name, we don't have a relationship. He thanked me for sharing my views about firearms policy. He appreciates me, ah, if only all politicians appreciated me. He told me that he is committed to making his Administration the most open and transparent in history (why capitalize Administration and not History?). He also wanted me to know that my concerns will be on his mind for the days ahead. I would rather he fixed the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan or at least gave the nation a policy about them worth fighting for (don't hold your breath).

He told me thanks for writing and wants me to visit the virtual WhiteHouse.gov to learn more about his Administration or to contact him in the future. Sincerely,

Okay, I have the winning ticket, it has been that strange a day, best check email and answer and fall asleep in front of the fire place - it is getting cold enough to cause wood piles to shrink in the dark. I did tell y'all to write, the Post Office can always use the business.

What political party are you? just interested...

The last political party I gave money to was the Democrats for the primary campaign of a Senator from Nebraska, Vietnam Vet and father. The last party I picked so I could vote in their primary was Democrat. But then although I believe in many things, I don't believe in the Democratic Party and I know that the Republicans aren't really better just different a little bit... Like I am a Life Member of the National Rifle Association (which I almost lump with those two major political parties - being so far away from me, my life and efforts for better'n) but I get to do more in shooting with the military and the Revolutionary War Veterans Association, CMP and Washington Arms Collectors (the last I haven't really done anything with but I read their news). Nope, I am Earl, and I guess it only matters that I care enough to be interested but not enough to think I should do something about any of the above or all of the above.

I have my life, and loves, and I have squandered much of my life - and enjoyed doing so. But I think working on being strong enough and disciplined enough to survive all the terrible stuff that is to come and to work hard on improving and increasing the LOVEs is where I am at for the near future - which is all I have left, having spent the first parts of my life enjoying more and building so little... you can get what you aim for, or not really see your target and just let fly.

I just wanted to say thanks, but couldn't comment...

VIPs
Name: RN Clara Hart
Posting date: 1/26/09
Stationed in: a civilian military hospital in the U.S.
Milblog url: www.mcneillysperspective.blogspot.com
Email: clarahart2@yahoo.com

“Good Morning!. . . Hello? Anybody home?” Slowly one brown eye slid open.

“Hi! My name’s Clara, I’m going to be your nurse today.” The brown eye peered out at me from underneath a headdress of gauze.

“How are ya feeling?”

“Tired.”

“Any pain? Nausea? Dizziness?”

“No, no and no.”

“Okay then, here’s today’s plan." I rattled off a list of things to accomplish. “You ready?”

“Nope."

“Huh! Well! That’s not really an option. So this is what we’re gonna do," I said with a smile.

A long-suffering sigh was the only response.

My patient, injured three years ago in Iraq, had returned for additional surgery and so, in caring for him with tasks to be completed, I forged on with the morning.

At one point the causality affairs officer stopped in and asked if a high profile visitor could come by. Since my patient was stable I said it was fine with me as long as the patient didn’t mind. My patient looked at me, then reluctantly agreed.

“Damn, man! If I known today I was going to have a VIP patient who was going to have a VIP visitor I’d have done my hair!” I joked with him. For that quip, my patient awarded me with a crooked smile and a gurgle of laughter.

Timetable for the visit set, we began to complete some of the day’s tasks. While working, my patient, in slow, deliberate speech, said, “They come in, shake your hand and tell you how proud they are of you. They say thanks for serving your country, how grateful they are for men and women like you. They struggle to figure out what to talk about next and try real hard not to stare at your blown off leg or damaged face. Then they leave and you never see or hear from them again. If you’re lucky they might remember you, but most don’t.” Brown eye looked out at me, sadness clearly evident. “I get so tired of being on display for these people. People that don’t know me.”

Later, while charting as my patient lay sleeping I looked up to see the VIP striding down the hallway,entourage in tow. I stood and moved into my patient’s room, waking him by calling his name.

“Visitors," I said.

The VIP came into the room and began to speak. At times my patient’s speech was slow and halting, softly spoken, and the VIP had difficulty understanding. To cover the awkwardness, I began to joke with my patient, the mood lightening when the crooked smile appeared on his face. As quickly as he came the VIP left, and with a remembrance gift in his hand my patient simply looked at me, tired expression on his face. I told him to go back to sleep, and returned to work.

Several hours later a second visitor approached me, another liaison, inquiring as to the status of my patient and asking if he could see him. As my patient was finally getting some much-needed rest, I threatened him with great bodily harm if he even attempted to wake my patient.

“Oh no, Ma’am, I wouldn’t do that! I just wanted to make sure he was okay. See, we served together in Iraq three years ago, and the last time I saw him was a couple of days before he got blown up. I won’t wake him, and if you tell me he’s doing okay, that’s good enough for me. I’ll see him some other time."

“I know you,” he added. "You’ve taken care of another one of my guys and you’re good people. Protective as hell of your patients, but I like that. Makes me feel better knowing someone like you is looking after my guys when I can’t.” I smiled and nodded not sure what to say especially since I didn’t remember ever working with him.

After some prodding on my part he began to tell me about the crooked path that had taken him to two other duty stations before being tasked as a liaison. “Come on,” I said. “Let’s go wake him up. You’re one visitor I know he’ll want to see."

Walking into the room, liaison slowly following, I again called my patient’s name. Leaning toward his head I softly spoke his name, then louder said “Wake up! There’s another visitor here to see you and you’ll like this one."

I heard the sigh he gave before the brown eye reluctantly opened. I began to smile as I watched recognition slowly dawn as he looked at his visitor. Then, as with an overexcited toddler whose entire body moves, my patient struggled to get his hand out from under the covers. He grinned, “How ya doing, man?!” All of us laughed, the visitor and the patient shook hands, then with hands tightly grasped, simply looked at each other.

Finding a chair for him, I urged the visitor to sit and talk. As I went about my work I heard snippets of the conversation drifting out of the room. Talk of guys they served with, promotions, life’s paths, laughter, tears, war stories and more laughter. Later, as the liaison stood up to leave, I wandered back into the room. With grins stretched across our faces we all gazed at each other.

I have no need to wonder which VIP my patient will remember most.

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I lifted the entire thing from The Sandbox, my problems are so little, perspective.

Yeah, breath long enough it will happen...

No, I am not replacing the Trusty Triumph, nor the lovely Lady that woke in the night to set it up and then light the candles way too early in the morning.

Thank you, Mom, for bringing me into this strange and interesting life and certainly for putting up with my totally male attitude and chest thumping.

We finished the cake and are looking forward to work, movie and dinner so, be good out there cause the Democrats can't change a vote in Congress for a BOWL game - priorities, priorities.

I don't understand memes...

Gimme 5...

5 Things I Was Doing 10 Years Ago

- Working as a newly hired Library Assistant on McNeil Island Corrections Center
- Missing my son off in the Navy in Spain
- Missing my father off to Higher Realms
- Singing badly in the church choir
- Trying to be a better man

5 Things on My To-Do List Today

- Clean the gutters and the roof before the next Pineapple Express
- Dumping the old blinds and one old coffee table
- Exercise vigorously, and like it
- Finish two books
- Take cool pictures of self in Rifleman gear

5 Snacks I Like

- Apples
- Melons
- Nuts
- Popcorn
- Asian Pears

5 Things I Would Do If I Was A Millionaire

- Not tell anyone about it
- Give money away
- ten acres with shooting range, swimming and hound and little animals
- travel and tell you about it
- Continue working in the prison library

5 Places I Have Lived (for various lengths of time)

- Minnesota where I was born
- Ligonier, Pennsylvania where I started becoming me
- Fort Bragg, North Carolina, where I was young and foolish always
- Korea where I met my better be better half
- Firebase Phoenix for far too long

5 Jobs I Have Had

- Ticket taker at the movie theater
- Dishwasher
- Rifleman and Machinegunner
- Primary Jumpmaster on a flight with a jump refusal
- Leader of small fine units

5 People I Tag to Answer

All those that read these words that haven't every looked at their life enough (not five, hmm?)

Culture and commitment...

I was encouraged by a couple of my favorite blogs to go vote for my favorite military blogs, so I did, having spent about two hours of the wee ones this morning looking at all the blogs I thought were important, and leaving my muddy tracks behind, I did vote. And I found a few of my military blog sites not mentioned in their list of thousands, but you could have figured that from the size of the electron pulse of the internet - it keeps growing...

I am working on the perfection of my rifle shot, and repeating the perfection perfectly, becoming one with the tool and the target. I think of the Japanese Tea Ceremony, and the perfect shot, and when it is you will know your place and the world around it.

Wrapping up, a day off yesterday...

The coffee stop went well, learned where the highway money is going, it will be better in October and that will be a good thing. Gave out lots of coffee and cookies, free maps and directions to avoid ending up in Seattle (the Emerald City - with its Wizard and horse of a different color). Exchanged view points and snide remarks and fool comments with Hal, he postponed a dental appointment for a permanent crown to spend four hours laughing with me. What are friends for?

After I went to bail out my Caravan, it wasn't ready - I didn't leave a cell phone number for them to get my okay on a part, sigh, telling them to fix it doesn't mean the same to them and I. We went to look at computers for Hal and I to see what Office Depot had that I needed - it had a two pack of 2MG memory cards for my camera - I can take tons of pictures now, if I would only slow down to read the instructions. Like most products I own today - it can do so much more than I can use effectively - when do we fall back into the dark ages? Anytime soon? Before they find out what kind a fool I am, please. Hal didn't find a computer he wanted, nor did he find those coin holders for mailing off to relatives, and I need a Pennsylvania, Tennessee, Illinois and Alabama quarter - for all the quarters I find, none of those yet. I guess I saw the Pennsylvania one years ago but not since we started filling that silly book.

I got my Caravan and Hal went off to better things, I stopped at two gun stores. Handled, looked closely at and discussed the M1A Scout with black stock and ten round magazine - which I think is the perfect size, having years of carrying and shooting the M14, I do not like the twenty round magazine at all. "In the way" was the nicest thing I could say about it in polite company. They only wanted $1400 + cash price, and $1500 + for charge card (plus 9% sales tax) and do you want ammunition with that? Focus, Earl, you are going to get an M1 Garand from CMP and you can buy the best and ammunition for the price of that plastic and steel from Springfield Armory... the new Springfield Armory.

Then the second store looks like it does much less retail and much more re-sale and small scale (I have purchased weapons in both stores and like the service and the weapons so that isn't a thing I worry about). They had a pretty nice on the wall Argentine Mauser from the 19th Century - just too pretty until they allowed me to look closely at it and play with it, and they couldn't find their bore light although they did come up with a flash light - sad, certainly not worth the $235 they wanted, I would have only purchased it to try and save it, was pretty in the darkness of the bar and the fog of the fumes and the buzz from the vodka... that only happened when I was really young -- don't do the dark and the drink and no more picking up in the darkness.

So I am off on another wild shopping expedition, find me a Doughboy hat for shooting with. I really do need one, the way I was with the Drill Sergeant hat I will need that natural flop in front and back so I can shoot straighter - you have heard that clothes make the man... five more years of more fun than I deserve, one major event per month and start working on that procrastination pile. Okay, move some rifles tonight - you want to look at them anyway...

Lovely things to check out and make sure they still work, and fit and haven't left me in impatience with my lack of attention. Soon, very soon, time to get them out for their health and my happiness. Soon.

Mother's Day ... or really passing (or paying) forward

My wife came from a strong family, father and mother, one brother, four sisters, all married and had families and have done okay - or well. I am sure success isn't measured in how many times one finds themselves in the news or hiding under their jacket as they go into the courtroom or jailhouse for testimony or treatment. It also doesn't seem to be in how many gold coins one wins or piles up in cool dusty caverns for Tom and Huck to find.

There was a Latte stand that had one of my co-workers stumped, the woman in the car in front of her had paid for her Latte. Random act of kindness and paying forward - Oprah just loves those people, and her audience will gush when she points it out and it rolls along so well. I think we have been watching 'Paying forward' during the entire history of humanity, from the farmer planting the last of his corn to bring the next crop even while his children are eating meager dried jerky and berries from last year, to the parents that carefully watch and encourage adventure and some success and failures in their children - knowing that perfection doesn't teach much about real life. As modern world connects us electronically and the government and media make us fear all the Strangers, the little random acts of kindness become significant - they are outside the norm, for today's society at least.

My wife finally found the perfect job, child care and it absorbs the 'grandmothering energy' that she is blessed with. Part-time, four hour days five days a week, and with infants and pre-toddlers. When I was in the third grade, I thought it was terrible that Soviet children had to be put in giant nurseries while their mothers slaved for the great god of Communist equality and efficiency. I liked my mother at home waiting for my return with my siblings. Ah, today's American mothers are slaving away for the lesser god of Consumerism 'one up on ya' and waste. I am taller now than then, too. Now I only pity the lost Romanian childhoods, and those children in care of the heartless government programs and employees that are only there for the paycheck and the social time with their co-workers. Mothers, grandmothers and those teachers and tender touching child care workers are all paying forward and giving generously to the next generations. And they only do it for the smile, the riveted look of wonder, for the laugh as tickled for the joy in those first steps, first words and growing strength and intelligence of the young pups. Hug them well and often, both the children and the women in motherhoods - they pay forward and I am only a guy in awe

Words have Power, they really mean something...

I have a rule in the library, that none of the crew may use profane, vulgar or obscene language while working. This is the base, zero tolerance for uttering foul language. Although I haven't ever fired anyone for it I will call their name out loudly, tell them that they should watch their language and clean up the conversation. I know I am in a prison, and I know men are prone to use such language to be tough and I know that "everyone" knows that it isn't to be taken personally. I should know that it isn't meant to be anything but common and it should roll off my back, but I am offended by it.

I once worked with a nice German woman, and was always irrated by her using American vulgarity in her language for emphasis. So I asked her why she didn't use the fine German vulgar language, she and sometimes I would be the only ones that could understand it. She told me that her mother wouldn't accept nor allow it, so she never swore or cussed in German, only in English. Ah, so most parents don't teach their children how to use bad language, and normally stop the first uses of it quickly. Washing one's mouth out with soap was a possibility in the old days. I am sure they didn't teach it in Sunday School, the Mosque nor the Temple. It wasn't on the list of spelling words, reading assignments nor was I permitted to be as creative in my writing. So I think I understand that such foul language that can be considered profane, obscene or vulgar is not beautiful, beneficial nor blessed by civilized society, so when it is used I am offended.

I personally came back from Vietnam, and was telling a great war story of my time there and a word most miserable popped out of my Army mouth - and my mind went into shock. This was in front of my parents in their home and I had used the most common verb for fornication as an adjective. There were so many wrongs at that moment, but my story continued, I remained in shock and apologized in my mind many times, but cowardly pretended it hadn't happened. My Army language improved from that day forward, I could make you miserable in so many ways with much better words and you might even think I was praising you. Telling the truth to trainees, when I was a Drill Sergeant, was much better than living out their Hollywood image of our relationship and what I could or couldn't say to or about them. It scared the trainee much more to have me whispering how pitiful his push ups were than calling him an evolutionary mistake on the Government's Scientific breeding program, in some vulgar or common way. So, just a common Noncommissioned Officer in the United States Army was aware and in control of himself enough that he didn't use foul language to communicate, or threaten, or demean the people he was talking to - because that language offended him.

Now, it is true that in the prison I expect that bad men will try to hurt me, intimidate me or make me feel bad or just a fool - but expecting it is only reality, accepting it is playing dead - I am not dead and I don't accept being hurt, intimidated, degraded or someone else's fool. Maybe it is the tie I wear, or the way I speak to the patrons and inmate clerks and corrections staff, but no one uses foul language around me without my calling them on it, gently, and lifting us out of the muck we were almost mired in.

I was recommended to find a Cranky Professor, a college Professor in English in a fine University, and I went to visit that blog. And this learned lady, warned me that she liked to use a vulgar term. I was not impressed - but knew immediately she wanted attention, hated me for my virtues, and will be quite happy living in the sewer of her life with muck hanging all over her. No wonder she is cranky, but then I do reserve my personal right not to read her much nor wallow in her muck. Those crude common misused words do offend me, and by lifting my workers up from the more common prison language as they perform their work and good customer service I am making this part of their world a little better. Too bad one day they might meet that learned college professor and have their dreams of polite perfect society smashed, but then they aren't supposed to improve are they? Well, if they don't improve after working with me, I will be offended.

go gently into the night...

Evening at the supermarket and a young woman with a two year old girl in her arms and a four year old boy in tow entering the automatic doorway. A chubby middle aged man pushing his shopping cart out slows and then stops for the doorway to clear. The woman tries to grab a cart one handed and shifts the girl higher on her hip and pull a cart clear, but they don't cooperate, the carts are entangled and she is not able to watch the boy, get the cart and not drop the girl. I reach in and grab both carts and pull them apart and offer her a choice and as she takes one and says something I push the other into the long line of carts and smile gently at the boy, trying to make it reach my eyes and it did. Then I look at the chubby fellow waiting patiently for the world to clear his path and he nods approvingly and tenatively at me, I am above him moving into the store. Not a sound and the step on to the fourth level of defensive ethics, so seamless and in sync with the time and the deed meeting the need. Go gently...